M o o d

I get tired of writing about myself... Do you? I'll say all of the fiction is not necessarily me. The writing is and isn't me. Needless to say it's not the best way to understand me. Here's an excerpt from the book... It's just an excerpt from Alton, and she's definitely a fun character to write.

Enjoy

Kisses, m.

M o o d

“Ever wake up and realize ‘I'm never going to meet the right guy and want to be with a girl...”

Prattles on Shelly while I start to rebutton my blouse. Thwarting my attempts to dress she shuts up long enough to disappear between my legs again. Alex is late and I'm tired of flight attendants and losing my mood. I should have flown first class and made Wayne come to me. Not that she hasn't been ever so much fun to play with and keep me company in this overpriced suite looking out on overpriced Manhattan. Just as I think about Alex being late again I realize those cherry lips are about to make me...

“Come to Papa!” Yells Alex as I open the door.

“You're not my Daddy.”

“Clearly Alton, cause it smells like a fucking porno in here.”

“Full service Flight... Attendant.”

“Prime Rib or Pulled Pork.”

“Salmon. There were no men so I improvised. She was quite entertaining.”

“I'll say, you're positively glowing.”

“Want a whirl?”

“Is that like a twirl?”

“It's whatever you want.”

“Actually I am...”

“Wondering if I'll have a little fun with you?”

“Not...”

“Able to resist?”

“In the mood.”

-Alton

Task

It's hard to tell someone you're working on something without showing them your dedication to the task. I've written and re-written passages from the Novel several times. And held off publishing to do so. Why? Some do not have the hardened tone I had once began with. 

As I started winding down to edit last year I realized that I truly didn't know which parts would fit in the finished product and I began rewriting. I do know I will finish and I am not making excuses. Yes, some characters are harder to process than others. Especially the women in the book. One of them is Jemma and, of course one of my favorites to get into. This is an excerpt written from her and quite unfinished because it's tone is very different from the others and while I want to add to it... I'm uncertain it has a place in the bigger scope of things. What do you think? 

Anyhoo... Do you dedicate yourself fully to a task? 

Enjoy!

Kisses, m. 

Dedicated

(11-2012)

“You’re leading an inauthentic life if you…” trails off the audio book in my newly detailed BMW S-series hybrid sedan that my agent has me driving for the sheer fact that ‘when you’re somebody damn it, then you’re environmentally conscious in this town’ quote unquote.

I am somebody.

Traffic has slowed to a complete stop on the 405 while the wannabe Chopra dictates how to live a more authentic life and instead of really listening all I can focus on is the license plate in front of me that reads BIG THINGS resting above an enormous pair of balls. The larger the balls the bigger the man reads the bumper sticker resting next to the ridiculously extreme nut sack in front of me.

Alton once told me that only the most obnoxious form of trash places those adornments on their cars. We were sitting in front of some newly opened art café in the last years oh so trendy Piedmont district when she carefully pointed out the obvious offender with two of her fingers snuggly secure in a ring containing a pair of obscenely large sapphires on her right hand.  She went on to say, “Men put their ego on display by showing off their balls and women tuck their ego neatly into a pair of overpriced shoes or a piece of jewelry,” before flashing her green finger bobbles above a pair of matching Peacock Louboutins she’d stolen from my closet.

As I stop in the middle of the memory to wonder who she’d stolen the ring from I’m yanked forward when the traffic shifts and the Faux-pra is now telling me to “fully commit to your dream” after saying “anything is possible” before jumping back to the tagline “dedicate your life to authenticity” then disc 5 ends and traffic stops once more.

“If you want your career to go anywhere you have to be dedicated to what you are doing,” Continues Guru Zero as the traffic crawls to a stop and I realize I'm not going anywhere. “How dedicated are you?” 

Fidelity

Fidelity can be defined as "faithfulness to a person, cause, or belief, demonstrated by continuing loyalty and support" but it means more than that. It is backed up by actions. As much as I enjoy being a fly on the wall and watching people, I sometimes find myself engrossed into an interesting situation unfolding. Real life is far STRANGER than TV. I love to see people lie about unnecessary things when I am seeing the full picture and the truth of the matter on both sides. For some readers who email me: The situations that I write about aren't always about me but often things strangers have shared with me. 

With that said this one is from me... several months ago a young woman approached me claiming she was dating the same fellow as me. My response was to inform her I was not involved with that man. We were acquaintances in a roundabout way and nothing more than conversations here or there. It was an interesting thing because I think she was more excited to be with a cheater than with an ordinary man. I walked away with a rumor, the knowledge of the truth and haven't seen the man again. I could never be with someone who could cheat on someone else. It is something I came to conclude through my own painful experience once. 

I think there are different kinds of relationships including those that aren't monogamous, but I don't think cheating is tolerable in any of them. I think marriage can work with honesty and I also think some people can be a threesome or foursome with the right honesty but you can't share someone without truth. Why? A cheater is a liar and a liar isn't sincere enough to be in a relationship. Lying nullifies your commitment. A liar is lying to you as much as they are the other person, and you have to wonder who and what else they are capable of being dishonest about. 

Here's an excerpt from the Novel - The Perspectives:The Inauthentic Life. It's about an affair. Don't get me wrong I do love writing & working on the Novel. But writing the book is always a hard process in character. And worth it when the chapters get completed. I miss the in depth writing occasionally but more and more I can't imagine my life without photography. So much that my time away is longer and it feels like I'm being unfaithful to the writing. 

Have you ever had an affair? Would you? Why?

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Stuck at 12:22

(8-20-2010)

The clock reads 12:22. I can see him on the edge of the bed wrestling with his hand. Pulling. Twisting. Right. Left. Digging into the knuckle. Scraping against the flesh when I tell him to stop.

“Please stop. You don’t have to take it off. I don’t mind.”

“I want to take it off… when I’m with you.”

 “I can’t believe you let me sleep this late.” I say still looking over at the clock. 12:22.

“We just went to sleep three hours ago.” He half snaps at me.

 “Stop Baby. She’ll notice that mark.”

“And she won’t notice the tan line.” He says.

People will tell you don’t fall in love with a married man, to that I respond you can’t help who you fall in love with. When they tell me that I’m selling myself short, I respond that I know what I’m doing. And I do. I know the position I’m in. I know he can’t or won’t leave his wife. I don’t expect him to for me. He has to do that for himself. It doesn’t change the fact that he loves me. He does. We don’t talk about the things that can’t happen. We talk about the things we can do together. This is enough for right now. It’s funny what enough is when you’re in love. The sacrifices you are willing to make to be with someone.

When we first met I didn’t think I would like him. His assistant was a small child like boy that went to SFSU for human relations in communicative studies. Otherwise known as a communications major. Wanye Michaels meet Gina Maric was the introduction. His office was pushed back through a maze of hallways on the fifteenth floor of a building in the business district. I can remember the color of his tie that day. Yellow. Every distinct thing in the room I can recall like yesterday. And the first thing he said to me was, “You’re all wrong, get out of my office.” So I left and went to work for his partner Paul in the offices along the opposite side of the building. My title was personal attaché and that meant a lot of different things for Paul.

Paul had errands that involved things and boys all hours of the day or night. It wasn’t until Paul left for the NY office that I went to work for Wayne. And the switch was a breath of fresh daylight air and professional comfort. The first time I had to help Wayne he was between floors in an elevator with a “friend” and his other assistant the small boy from SFSU was panicking. Calling too many people. And Wayne wanting no more attention being drawn to the situation needed it taken care of immediately. To ensure they were dislodged quietly the phone call I placed was of the utmost discretion. Even handling the release and removal of his other assistant with several confidentiality agreements required caution.  Wayne had one rule if there was any: his wife didn’t need to know. I respected that. They had a history. She didn’t need to be reminded of things that she already knew about.

After handling the sticky mess involving the “friend” and former assistant I became Wayne’s full-time solitary personal liaison. The position required me to attend multiple trips and events with his business associates as a helpful connection. Several trips in I allowed things to change and it was then that I decided my first loyalty wasn’t to Wayne. When things started I knew I had to keep a part of myself from him. But that’s not how it ended up. One thing became two then three and I was already in the middle of much more. In the beginning we took care to hide the situation and he continued to be seen with other women, then occasionally we worked and spent time with his friends, eventually we attended events together. It wasn’t my intention to become one of his friends or lovers, it happened.

It’s not as though a woman starts an affair with the intention of doing so. I tried to explain that to friends in the beginning. It wasn’t as though I’d wanted to be involved this way. I would have preferred that he wasn’t already attached in a commitment to another. It wasn’t enough for them. There are always those people trying to tell you differently about finding happiness. That it’s not how they would choose so it must be wrong.

 “I don’t think your tan line will be the problem when the rest of you is tan.”

“Now isn’t the time to pick a fight. Help me with this.”

He twists the ring back and forth around his knuckle. I can see the pain it causes him. Rubbing raw against the skin. Digging in deeper. Stuck. He continues for what seems like an eternity. 12:22. I love the way his head leans forward to examine the struggle further. Like the ring was a mere part that was out of place. I move closer to lean in and kiss his neck and he shakes me off.

“What?”

“Just help me.”

“No. Really what?”

High viscosity. Means nothing is moving. Thick like quicksand anything that enters will become lodged in. Think of a sugary liquid in the bowl that won’t move unless you add more water. In order to make something move you have to add something to it. Sometimes that’s heat, sometimes its water and sometimes it’s like quicksand and there’s no way out.

We’re at lunch in the park when he tells me about the trip before asking me to pick up Adrian. He tells me he’s off of Howard somewhere. And how it’s this place that I’d never been in the Caribbean. We’ve been talking about getting away for a while but haven’t actually been able to. I ask him why Adrian didn’t call me first. He says it’s because he isn’t himself at the moment and I should just go with it. I smile and tell him that I love it when Adrian isn’t himself. He tells me this is pretty bad. I slide my hand across the table and cover his gently. I love when he shows concern for his friends. It’s almost 2:30. I should go. But he stops me.

“Baby, I love you.” He says and stops me from getting up.

“I love you too. What’s all this about?”

“I’ve been… I need to make it up to you.”

“Tell me then. “

“On the trip. Later.”

“Baby, I have to go then.” I get a quick kiss before leaving the table.

It’s hard when you’re with someone who is being unfaithful to someone else. It makes you question the basis of your relationship. It often makes you stop and wonder what it is about the person that they are cheating on.  And wonder if it’s really you that is being cheated on as well. Once in a while you start thinking that maybe they aren’t really with you because they want to be but that’s before you stop wondering if they’ll leave that other person as quickly as they’d leave you.

“Dahlia’s going to have another baby.” He says it like he wants me to react.

“Let me help with the ring. I have some lotion in my purse.” I get up and walk to the bathroom and get my purse.

“Did you hear me? I said...”

“I heard you. What do you want me to say?” I throw the purse on the floor and keep the lotion in my hand as I walk out of the bathroom.

“Something would be nice.”

“Wayne, we’ve been at this before. We’ve discussed what would happen if she had another baby.”

“Are you ready for this?”

“It’s not up to me. You’ve always needed to make this choice yourself.” I start lubing his finger and twisting.

“Baby, don’t be mad at me. Damn it, stop!” He pulls his hand back. “That hurts.”

“What then?” I sigh and throw the bottle of lotion at the far wall.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. Listen. I don’t know if I want to stay with her…”

“Wayne. Don’t tell me this. It’s not up to me. You can’t expect me to tell you the right thing h…”

“I’m not. But I told you I’d stay if she had another. I don’t think I want to. Especially since… ”

“Wayne, what is it?” I walk over and try to hold him although he pushes at me.

“She’s had someone else for a while and I looked the other way cause I had you. I think she might leave.”

“What are you doing to me? I’m done. I can’t. Leave me…” with a slap across his face I walk away and slam the bathroom door.

We’ve had our fair share of fights. I can’t believe I’m doing this half the time is what I think when I go back. No relationship is perfect. It takes work and there’s a fair share of ups and downs. You either ride them out or walk away.

Even when we’re leaving to LA to catch a meeting before flying out to NY before coming to the Islands I know we weren’t mad at each other for the previous week. The previous week when we fought over nothing and Dahlia had phoned the office to have me deliver the favors for the girl’s sleepover. An incident at the house with the family never goes well with Wayne. Its how she likes to behave he tells me over and over again.

Sometimes I think he wants to tell her not to call because of how it makes him feel afterwards. But he doesn’t. It’s hard to when I have to deal with the calls from the house. When I hear his wife on the line and his daughters in the background it’s difficult. Dahlia knows and the conversation is always forced kindness between us until it’s over and she sets down the line.

“You get to a point where you need to be with someone,” she says.

“How do you know?” asks her best friend Carla Andress.

“You don’t know. Trust, hope, happiness can all be things that you deceive yourself with. But the trick is in finding a way to get past all that fear of deception to be with someone.”

The conversation is staged for my benefit. I’m hearing the same lies she tells herself along with everyone else, meaning the other housewives and mothers of the girls waiting to be left at the sleepover. Funny thing is that these are the same things I tell myself. And I smile with all the grace within me as I leave the five bags of treats and toys from the Emporium in the living room. Deep down I know he wants to tell me “don’t come by the house”, but he can’t.

We’ve never been in his house. Together. I don’t think I could respect myself if we did. It’s always been in hotels or trips or with his friends. Most of his friends don’t know about her. It’s me that is the front. The wife and family are kept hidden. Sometimes it feels like she is the affair and I’m the one he is with.

It’s hard to imagine such a cold woman with Wayne. He tells me she isn’t like this. That she puts up the wall to cover the weaknesses. The children are happy and well cared for. It sends me spinning sometimes that I have to let him go back home to her. The long weekends with her in Mendocino hurt more viciously than any wound. Smiling on Monday when he tells me about the trip. About her, him and the girls. I hate that part of this. But I understand that this is what I choose. I could be with my friends or dating a completely available man, but this relationship is what I choose. Because this is enough. I chose to see him on select weekdays, weekends, and late lunches and between meetings at the office. I could be doing a thousand other things with myself, but I limit myself to him. Because I love him this is enough. And even though this is the part that wounds me, I wouldn’t want to die without any scars.

Wayne has me on speakerphone when I pull up across the street from where Adrian is sitting. Wayne tells me “kid’s gloves” before hanging up. Adrian doesn’t recognize me and seems pretty smashed. I get out of the car, smile and wave at him. I love it when I get to see Adrian even though he hasn’t been himself since Felicia. She really took a part of his heart out. And possibly his mind. I miss Adrian with Jemma. They both seemed to get on better before L.A. Before Felicia. Adrian keeps talking and taking hits while I’m stuck in traffic. He’s terribly witty even when he doesn’t know me. Tells me about hiring hookers for Wayne and that keeps me laughing. I can’t help wondering if this is what will happen to me when Wayne decides to leave me someday. Will I go crazy and lose myself? I think of sacrifices and scars and then I decide to arrive early for our meeting at the Four Seasons to talk with Wayne alone.

At the Four Seasons it’s another time when the ring is stuck and I can’t breathe while he’s undressing me in the bathroom of a hotel suite.

“Wayne, can’t we talk?”

“There’s no time. Are you sure Adrian is okay?”

“Wayne, he’s fine. He seemed happy to walk around.”

“Then come on. What’s wrong?”

“What happens when this is over?”

“We’ll go hang out with Adrian at the bar.”

“Wayne, be serious. What happens to me when you decide it’s over?”

“Fuck. You know how to kill it. Why now?” He tosses his watch and leaves the bathroom.

“Adrian. I think I’m afraid of being in too far.”

“Adrian did that to himself! What do you want from me?”

“Talk to me.”

“Let me guess. A commitment? You swore you’d never pull this shit.”

“I’m not. I’m leaving. I need to think.” I pull my shirt and jacket on and look at him.

“Gina. Don’t go.”

“Call me later. Don’t be late for Adrian.”

I drive around the park for two hours and 45 minutes before heading to Frank’s to meet Wayne and Adrian. It’s on the way to Frank’s that I decide I can’t get upset again. Not like this. Not about this. It’s not his fault. I chose this. The arguments, the wife, the sacrifices and scars.  

We’re on the deck of the yacht. I can see the crystal blue waters surrounding the boat. Wayne goes below deck for another bottle of wine. Dahlia is wearing the same printed swimsuit I am. She walks over to the railing and looks into the water. We’re alone and there’s nothing between us. I ask her what we’re looking at and I can see the white of her teeth when she smiles at me. She says nothing but reaches over and puts her hands around my neck. Tighter and tighter she squeezes and I can’t breathe. There’s no one around and I can feel the life slipping away from me. Then it’s like some small part of me starts to grow and grow from inside becoming this hateful rage. With that rage I reach back and start to crush her face in. Her hands release their grip. Fist by fist my hands pound into her flesh. Fingers start pulling at the skin to reveal nothing. I’m consumed by this and want to keep going, but I remember about Wayne and stop to push her body into the crystal blue waters. I watch it splash and the redness spreads. I can feel the blood dripping down my arms and the flesh stuck between my fingernails. I don’t care that she’s gone. My rage is satisfied.

And then I wake up. It’s not that I want to kill her. I don’t. To me she is an extension of Wayne. I love Wayne and that part of his life is precious. Valuable. My love extends to value what he loves. I can not destroy that which I love. I’m stuck. This is what I accept. Until the one day when it becomes too much. When I can’t anymore. When the quicksand is pulling me under. Then maybe I escape. But will I blame myself afterwards?

“Baby, come out. Don’t leave. Not like this. ”

“Why?”

“I love you. Come out. Talk to me.” I open the door and face him.

“No, why didn’t you say something before?”

“I didn’t think I could confront her. Shit, that’s not it. I don’t know.”

“I can’t tell you what to do…” I put my hand on his mouth, “Shh. I don’t want you keeping things from me.”

“Gina, I’m wrong. I should have said something. That was wrong. I want to be with you. Just you baby. Marry me. When this is over, make it real. Official.”

“Wayne, I love you. I’m not going anywhere right now. But I don’t know about official either.”

“Alright we’ll figure this out later. I love you.” He says before kissing me and starting things.

We make love on the floor outside of the bathroom and he falls asleep. Its still 12:22 when I realize that the clock is stuck. And the ring on his finger is stuck. Not me. I could leave at any time. I choose to be here.

Gina takes me to the Four Seasons. She has an appointment with a client and I’m having drinks with Wayne at 5:30. It’s only 4:15pm. You aren’t at the Four Seasons. You don’t like hotel bars. I’m the opposite of dry. What trouble can I find?

The ladies locker room isn’t where I should be. So I’m leaving even though she asks me to stay. Who? Someone. She follows me. Smiles and says come back to my room. It’s 4:25. I’ve got time. I need another hit.

It’s 5:15. The maids’ pantry is stocked with a thousand tiny little chocolate mints. There’s a closet full of those tiny mini bar liquors that is now missing thirty eight tiny bottles of Stoli Vodka. Mint Chocolate and Vodka sounds like an amazing new flavor for ice cream.  You would love that. Why don’t they put alcohol in ice cream? I’ll ask Wayne. He makes things happen. My bottles clink clank while I walk across the empty lobby.

I’m at the hotel bar. Wayne is here early. I’m beyond soaked. I show him my new dance that produces three little bottles from the bottom of my left pant leg. Wayne thinks it’s funny and asks me about Gina. I say client with inappropriate finger quotes. Wayne shakes his head and smacks me on the shoulder. I share about the party invite from Alex. Wayne looks at his watch, nods and tells me to order a drink. I forget about Stoli and Chocolate Mint Ice Cream… before I forget about you.

Hold on to yourself and dream...

      

“We're all such narcissists,” she says with sharp toned words, “everything in our culture caters to that mentality instead realizing our dreams & supporting each other.” 

Then I realize in an instant the voice saying it is me. I'm having an out of body moment and it's crazy because I know I'm becoming a different me. It's inspired by one small thing said to me a week or so ago from a man I don't see often but he's incredibly sharp about things. Somehow his words made a difference that day. I don't know why but they did.

There's a beauty of being so connected by the world, the internet and so on... yet a shocking reality that it divides us from the human condition. It's beginning to feel like everything in life is designed to make ourselves & things appear more interesting or others will find interesting.

It's hard to hold on to yourself when you expect yourself to fulfill the dreams of others instead of your own. 

Society has begun to insist we are our own suns & other people are required to revolve around us like planets for sustainability. Because of our culturally prolific narcissism, we expect people come to us instead of us reaching out to them and shun them when we can get no more. In reality we are all a piece of the universe; interconnected and very dependent upon each other. Our actions affect the whole world. The energy we put out into the universe has an impact globally. 

So how do we change? We meet people halfway sometimes... To get what we all want instead of relying on nepotism & favors. Maybe to make a better world we must find a compromise that helps everytime instead of simply taking. Find the Inbetween. Be less about ourselves and encourage others to express themselves by giving more of ourselves. And depend upon others in terms of friendship instead of tasking them for favors.

Would you be willing to change to make a better life? To meet others halfway? Do you hold on to yourself and your dreams or insist on becoming what you think seems interesting in order to be friends or seem important? Important people don't worry about how they seem to others...

Here's an excerpt from the novel about a narcissist young woman that relies upon who she knows, uses men, has sex with and manipulates men... Pretending through the guise of loving them. One of my darker creations and I'm not sorry she exists.

Enjoy!

Kisses, m.

Critical

(12-19-2010)

Critical. There are two doctors outside the room talking and this is the one word that I can hear. A thousand other words in the spoken language and this is the one I recognize instantly. I think it’s a shame that I can’t pick out any another part of their conversation before I think it’s a shame that he’ll never wake up again. It’s a shame for a lot of things. The only thing I can wonder about is how things ended between us and somehow it reminds me of a moment and a memory.

“Two guys walk into a library and hit on an Amish girl…”

It’s the first line in this really bad joke he’s telling. I can tell that he’s nervous because of the joke. He always jokes when he’s nervous. His hair is still wet. Dripping. A drop of water runs down the side of his cheek and he has an eyelash that’s ready to fall. I’m too busy thinking, watching him nervously look up down and out the window instead of in my eyes when the next thing I know he’s done and there’s no punch line or “ba dum ba dum dum” because it just happened.

That’s thing with Adrian. It’s always just happening with him. No chance he is participating in the events. He’s just being dragged along. Along in life. Along in everything. It was same way with us. He moved along with love because it was what he thought was supposed to happen. Everything was my idea. Even when it ended.

He doesn’t love me. I know this. The day I found out I think I cried harder than any other time before that in my life. I don’t know why I’m here.

Maybe because I need closure.

Maybe because I need to see him one last time.

Maybe because I love him.

Maybe I really don’t know.

It’s another excuse after another with me. And always a fight. A fight I can’t win. Even with myself. He can’t even talk back but I can feel the tension mounting in this room. Another fight.

There were fights because there were always fights between us. I think that’s how it all started.

At quarter to nine on the Upper East Side just outside a room full of half-real poseurs in the middle of a party where the only color of alcohol being served is clear a hand reaches out to slap me before I can light my cigarette and fabulously avoid conversations with no one. It isn’t the hand of the hostess who said “Don’t bother asking for a whiskey” before snatching away my fiancé. It belongs to an older man standing next to me on the edge of a balcony. On the edge of a balcony where I’m trying to get away from the party, the poseurs and my fiancé this man starts telling me that my dress is all wrong for the party instead of telling me how beautiful I look like all the others. And he doesn’t stop there.

“That’s a very nasty habit.”

“You’re a nasty fellow.”

“You’d like to think that because I’m right.”

“Who are you to judge me?”

“Smoking kills. It’s proven.”

“And my dress?”

“Would look better off than on.”

“What would my fiancé think?”

“That’s a lovely idea for the evening. It belongs with the dress. Maybe you should take it off.”

“That’s a bold thing to presume.”

“Tell me then, what is it? You’re out here. He’s in there. It’s a nice rock, don’t get me wrong. But...”

“But…? Am I spinning his wheels?”

“Come on. What else you running, doll?”

“Nothing. Hmm… You right now. Does it bother you?"

“No. I find it extremely attractive that you’re bold enough to do what you want. Few women do.”

“What about his broken heart?”

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Hmmm… Presumptuous.”

“You didn’t say no…”

And I didn’t. He was nothing like the others. I think I liked the challenge of it. A challenge to win him over and usually it was him that won me over. I think I liked that I never saw it coming. And it always was a challenge up to the end.

We’re in the cab. He’s breathing so loudly now. Quiet loud. Alex is telling us about the launch of his next line. He’s still saying nothing when Alex smiles and I laugh. We’re agreeing to work together. And nothing. It’s like he’s not here. I think that maybe this wasn’t a good idea when he stares at the window that’s foggy. I wonder if he’s mad when Alex keeps talking in the front seat. I wonder if this is sadness and lean into his arm. The rain hasn’t let up when I lean in further and say “we should talk.” It’s not as though he will say no. And he doesn’t.

The doctors are quiet now and there’s nothing but intermittent beeps in the room while I watch him breathe. The look on his face is the same one I remember the last time we spoke. The face of a grave old man and all I can think of is how much I still love him when the doctor enters the room.

“Don’t you have anything to say to him?” The doctor asks.

“Is there no hope? I mean... won’t he wake up?” I ask.

“It’s premature, but there’s always hope.”

“I don’t think I have anything to say. What should I say?”

“Say what you feel. It’s best if it comes from the heart.”

“What if it doesn’t help?”

“After all that I’ve seen, there’s nothing talking can hurt.

“But we had a fight the last time we spoke.”

“Maybe you should clear the air. He’s listening.”

We’re getting lunch now. He’s drenched from the rain and still looking like he used to sitting across from me. Sitting there with this dumb look grinning ear to ear. I can’t believe I kissed him back there and keep thinking about the moment I let him get swept up into. Same old Adrian and nothing has changed. I look away while he’s trying to tell me about his life. He thinks I’m not listening because I’m looking away. I quietly listen and look out the window when he tells me about the scene. He’s talking about the money, the girls and I don’t care. I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. He stops telling to me to ask me how I am and I tell him because I think things are okay. I forget what I need to tell him and tell him that I’m in love and he starts fidgeting. I tell him again because I think this is it and show him the ring. His fidgeting is worse when I start talking about HIM and instead of staring I move my attention to the menu. I tell him it’s like Paris and ask him if he remembers. Because I wonder if he remembers how it felt. But it doesn’t matter what I say cause he can’t remember Paris.

There’s nothing between us.  It wasn’t that he needed to say it. Even now as he lies in the bed unconscious it changes nothing. He never needed to find anything wrong with me because I was already looking before we ever met. There was nothing in his eyes that first night. He knew how I was and didn’t walk the other way because of it. I simply couldn’t see things the way they were until it was over. Until I knew it was over.

“A tryst with a young man ends the minute you tell him he’s not the only one.”

“And an older man?”

“He knows the score. He’s not in it for the same reason the younger man is.”

“What about...?”

“What about what?”

“I don’t know. You know…”

“I know that you’ve lined up more than one fish. And that fellow with the ring isn’t the only one.”

“And does that bother you?”

“No because it doesn’t bother you.”

An ending starts before you can even guess its happening. The end of it all has a start. Something that is real but you won’t know what it was. You will wonder what changed first. Where it happened and how you missed it? But you didn’t miss it at all. It was already there and you saw it. Human nature is to dismiss the small indifferent changes in the people around us. Moods and body language can vary even when we don’t spend much time apart. Then the small things add up to big things. The way his neck arches back when he yawns might be no more than a residual tightness left over from a stressful day. A passing distance that is longer and further than you might have remembered. The coldness that can’t be shaken will begin to make you wonder if he knows.

And still you’ll wonder about the beginning of the end. When? What was it first?

It’ll be in his look that you first see it. A quick madness that builds behind his eyes that passes with a quick turn of the head. Then your touch will send him out of his mind. Spinning without a reason. And nothing will put him at ease when you try to calm him. He won’t rest in the bed next to you. Eyes will stay open while he lies awake. Won’t be able to eat at the same table as you. The sight of you will make him shudder and pull away. Eventually he won’t say it. It won’t come out with ease. You can feel the way it changed between you, and continue anyway.

Then there’s a point when you know. You know you can’t pretend anymore. And I thought I knew before it happened. Yet he never had to tell me because I knew. The rejection was slow. Like your body attacking a new organ. This thing is vital to your survival yet you will cast it out. Only able to accept it until there’s no possible way to deny that this isn’t going to work. And that organ like my love could only last until it was rejected. And it wasn’t going to. The look in his eye isn’t love anymore. It’s contempt.

Between the machines and the nurse’s heels clicking in the hall I can almost make out a rhythm in his heartbeat when the doctor leaves. “Critical” in bright red letters flashes across the monitor as I take a breath. There’s nothing changed in the way he lays there. His face stays the same with every syllable that I utter. It’s nothing like before when the doctor standing the doorway urges me to keep talking.

Talking. He’s talking quietly as the sun’s about to come up and there’s another dress that looks better off than on resting underneath his left leg while I’m lying across his right side. We’re far too intimate about things while I’m still wearing another man’s ring. But his nonchalance calms me and I answer everything he asks. 

“Tell me about Paris. And this Adrian that makes you run off to wear another man’s ring.”

“He told me he love me and left me. Left me all alone in the relationship without him.”

“Is that the truth?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t sit still. I was alone. Then there were others and it’s like that evening on the balcony when I needed air.”

“And…”

“Instead I found you.”

“And he left.”

“Not exactly. There’s more. ”

“And you continued?”

“Yes. I don’t know why. It was unraveling and I think part of me wanted it to. And I think I wanted it to be over already. I couldn’t stop. I wanted to hurt him for leaving me. Then finally he did.”

I roll over and lean back against his bare chest. I want to reach back and run my fingers through his hair but he stops me and folds my arms against my chest. It’s so quiet that I can’t help but ask it.

 “Tell me about your wife. What happened?”

“She had someone… it’s not like how you see it. It’s not like that at all.”

“How did you know it was over?”

“I couldn’t look at her in the morning. I knew what was happening and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go through the motions.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand.”

“Let me explain. You say you wanted to hurt him. To punish him for what he wasn’t doing. My wife, I loved her. I never stopped loving her. She was so beautiful that it hurt when it happened.”

“What was it that hurt?”

“The other. I could see it in her. I knew and it killed me a little everyday to continue. So I asked her to go.”

And now he’s said it. And I can’t believe he said that. And now I’m outside. Crying. Crying in the rain. There’s so much water that I can’t make out the rest of the world. He’s followed me outside. Yelling about things that don’t matter. I tell him that “I can’t” and he tells me it’s my fault just like Paris was my fault and we were my fault. Adrian keeps telling me everything is my fault. I know I’m young but I know it’s not all my fault. I tell him I’m wrong but I loved him. He calls me a liar but he didn’t have to let me go. He happens to fall through things. And I’m wrong, and all the blame, and maybe even a liar because he fell through me. It’s my fault he chose to pass right through me instead of hanging on. I’m running after him and trying to tell him that I love him but it’s too late. He doesn’t care and he’s right, all I wanted isn’t in that direction anymore while I’m still wearing one man’s ring and sleeping with another.

I tell him that I love him with all my heart and he tells me that I’ll feel this way again one day.  I tell him that I’ll love him always and he tells me that may be true. In spite of all these things I keep telling him that I love him.

“Mathis. Felicia Mathis. Will I take your name when we get married?”

“Married? Why would you want to do such a thing to yourself? You’ve already left one for another.”

“Jamison. It’s because I love you.”

“That’s a childish thing to do. I’ve been married. It’s not something I’d do again.”

“What if I want to get married?”

“If that’s what you really want, then one day you will.”

“Jamison. I want…”

“Felicia, please. Why don’t you call that young man that dropped off those books the other day?”

“Adam? He’s from my management. He was dropping off my new book for the look-see. He’s not…”

“Darling, he kissed you in the hall before he left. I could see from the veranda. I’m not jealous. You ought spend time with a…”

“Jamison. I want to spend time with you.”

“And while I believe that’s partly true, I’d prefer you call up that young man for a little bit.”

“That’s not what I want. You once said you found it attractive that I did what I wanted.”

“It’s not my intention to hurt you. I want you to satisfy your curiosity while you can. Please do as you wish. But don’t feel as though you must remain here. You may go.”

And I would go. His words could always push me out the door. Although deep down inside me I wanted to remain at his side I knew he was right. It wasn’t his love that kept me there. It was mine.

There’s a thousand reasons that something is wrong with you. It comes down to one thing. But he has to have a thousand others to avoid the one. Everything you once thought he loved is wrong. All the ways the other men love you he can find a fault. And even the little things that he found beautiful are now flawed and undesirable.

The last time we fight he tells me so many things. Things that I don’t want to hear. Like a father scolding his child he’s reminding me of my weaknesses. Qualities that he once adored are quickly disregarded. Boldness is now impudence. Carefree becomes irresponsible. Curiosity becomes adultery. He tells me that my past is going to haunt me one day before telling me that I’m breaking hearts out of selfishness and cruelty. He tells me its happening because of my own insecurities before reminding me that my youth is not an excuse. After all that he tells me I can’t believe him. I want to run and hide I’m so ashamed but I do nothing. Nothing but stand there and cry. Instead of words of comfort he tells me that it’s late before telling me to leave it alone and come to bed. And I tell him again that I love him.

Instead of telling me he loves me he tells me that my mind is immature. That it’s a pity a woman with a body like mine could have a mind that was so undeveloped. And after all these things he’s said its then I knew he couldn’t love me.

A man doesn’t love a woman he criticizes. When his mind is ashamed of her then there’s no hope. It’s sad for the heart if there’s love without hope. And it’s hard to love again. The trick is finding the person that can understand that.

“That’s a bit sad don’t you think?” the doctor shifts his weight in the chair.

“I suppose it is.”

“But in the end you love again, because if you don’t then you’ll never know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you still love him?”

“I still do. In spite of it all, I think it was the first time I really knew I was in love.”

“What about that other fellow?”

“Adrian? I don’t know. I think so. But it wasn’t anything like this. He was different.”

Over the intercom sounds a page that sends the doctor bounding upwards and over.

“There’s the bell tolling. I have to… my cue.”

“It was nice of you to stay. To listen.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Felicia. He’ll recover.”

“I hope so.”

“Not to worry. You will too…”

The moment and the doctor comes and goes. I stand there still waiting for something to change in his face when nothing does. And it happens. Then there she is. The new version of me standing in the doorway. An even younger version of me. This new one he doesn’t love is moving closer to stand over him. Next to him. Waiting. In the place I used to occupy. And I’m forgetting about memories and moments in the past where I’m at fault or wrong. It’s in this serious moment that there’s no reason for me to deny that something has happened. He’s found someone new. And that same feeling that kept Adrian walking away in the rain has me stepping back out of this room, down the hall, and outside.

Outside. It’s 11 pm. I’m standing outside this club on Sunset and there’s a man that says my car is parked too close to his. I tell him to fuck off. He says “hey you hey get outta here” and I start kissing this blonde girl that’s been standing too close to me the entire time I’ve been standing outside. I stop kissing this girl to take a hit as this guy keeps yelling and making a scene. It’s a laugh that this guy gives such a fuck about his car when there’s a brunette that looks hungry for him standing nearby. Everyone cares too much about their cars here. I wave at the brunette and she smiles. I like when girls smile. I want her to talk to this guy and make him fuck off. Instead she comes over and starts kissing me in front of the blonde. I think blonde is jealous but she leans over and starts kissing brunette instead of me. They keep kissing for at least five minutes and I can’t remember what happened to the angry guy but I want to keep watching when the girls decide it’s a party that I’m not invited to and walk away. It’s still hot outside. You don’t like when its hot but you’re not here. Come out come out wherever you are. I take a hit and decide its time for another scene but can’t remember where I parked the car. Can you remember?